Illusions
by Eileen the Pleasant
Summary: A modern day FBI Agent, in attempt to stop a possible threat to America is unwillingly sent into 1892 London. Desperate to get back, Yvette Tate must obey an insane scientist, break morals, and join two dectectives to fight her way through the past.
1. Before Hand

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything that is Sherlock Holmes, you know the drill.

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Before Hand

"All squads, are you in position?" a voice called in on the communicator in her ear. Looking back at her squad, she saw them in positions for engagement waiting for her order. She nodded in reassurance and turned back her concentration to the two steel doors ahead. She pressed the button on her communicator.

"Squad 1 is in position, Commander," she replied.

"Squad 2 is in position," she heard Danny report through the communicator.

"And the total bad ass Squad 3 is in position," Gunner called in, in his regular cocky attitude. She rolled her eyes waiting for the Commander to reprimand him for it.

Just in time, Commander called in again, "Goddamn it, Gunner, this is a serious operation. If you mess up again, I will demote you… for good this time."

"I understand Commander. Good thing Yvette is here to save me from doing so," Gunner replied, only causing more unwanted tension.

"Would you shut up Gunner, you're not making this any easier!" she whispered harshly into the communicator.

"Yeah, yeah, I got it, Agent I got a street light shoved up my ass."

"Gunner!" Both the Commander and Yvette yelled into the communicator.

"Sorry, Boss." Gunner whispered over the communicator. She could just imagine Gunner wincing sheepishly after being yelled at. He was too immature for his own good. How he got to be a Special Agent of the F.B.I. was a mystery to her.

Yvette shook her head of her thoughts of her teammate and focused on the task at hand. They were invading the lab of an extraordinary scientist named Dr. Vincent P. Dufor. He had been dealing in illegal experimentation and giving enemy countries the weapons he created for the United States of America. He is committing serious federal crimes, not to mention high treason.

Tonight, Dr. Dufor is supposed to be finishing his "most prized machine". At this moment in time her agency doesn't have any more information about it other than it has some nuclear properties. They have records of him buying a suspicious amount of the nuclear energy a few months ago. Whatever the Doctor is creating wasn't passed by the American Government and is a threat to America and its citizens.

So it is her job to get in, take down the Doc and disable the machine.

"All agents have a go. I repeat, all agents have a go," the Commander replied sternly, over the communicators to the three Special Agents surrounding the laboratory.

Yvette immediately signaled her squad and they moved to the steel doors. She signaled to the two agents to open the doors, and then they flung them open. They moved in a V formation, with Yvette in the lead. Taking a low stance, firmly holding the 12-gauge shotgun with two hands, Yvette spotted the gray haired scientist standing in front of a console.

She aimed for the Doctor's head, trying not to pay attention to the large machine that was connected to the console.

"Dr. Vincent P. Dufor, step away from the console and put your hands up," Yvette called, while the other two squads took their positions.

"Ah, I was expecting you Federal mongrels for a couple of weeks now. It took you long enough," the old scientist called out casually, not bothering to turn around and look at Yvette.

"Dr. Dufor, do not make this any harder on yourself. Step away from the machine or you will suffer major consequences," she ordered again, taking another step towards the Doctor.

"May I ask what kind of consequences will I suffer if I don't step away, my dear Special Agent Yvette Tate?" Dr. Dufor said smugly, as he turned around to look at her.

Yvette was taken aback. How did he know her name? How did he know she was a Special Agent?

"Surprised, Agent Tate? I would be if I were you." The scientist smiled as he continued to stand dangerously close to the machine.

Yvette recovered quickly, "Dr. Dufor, if you do not step away from the machine right now, I guarantee your consequences will be very severe."

"How about we have a negotiation?" Dr. Dufor asked, as he continued to smirk at Yvette.

Suddenly the Commander chimed in on the communicator, "Do _not_ negotiate with him."

"You have no room to negotiate, Doctor," she replied confidently, not letting the scientist's mind game get to her.

The scientists sighed and looked back down at the console and then back up at Yvette and said, "I see there is no other way out in this matter."

"Then you will come quietly?" she asked, never letting her aim stray from the Doctor's head.

"No, I have a better idea, dear," he said all too casually. Then he pressed a button on the console, causing a hum to start inside the machine. Yvette felt as though a large rock had been dropped in her stomach. She didn't know what this machine was meant to do, so she had to stop it before it did something very bad.

"Shit," she muttered. "Engage! Take him down, but do not kill him!" Yvette ordered her men. As soon as Yvette gave the order her men were upon the Doctor. Officer Noble smashed the butt of his gun into the scientist's gut while Officer Peterson kicked in him to his knees. While her men took the Doctor down with ease, Yvette watched in satisfaction. After Dr. Dufor was in cuffs, she hurried over to the console and tired to find a way to shut the machine down. Though to her, it was like a foreign language. She was running out of time.

Danny joined her at the console, removing his safety glasses to get a better look.

"I've never seen anything like this before," Danny mumbled, as he ran his hands over a number of silver buttons and dials. Yvette looked up at the machine that had a giant arch made out of steel. In the middle, a bright light was beginning to shine. Danny is their team's "geek", as Gunner likes to put it. If Danny can't figure it out, that means they're in serious trouble.

She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, making her forehead gather with sweat. She pressed the button on the communicator and called in, "Commander! I need a technician in here _now_!"

"We don't have any on sight, Agent Tate," Commander replied, not revealing any emotion she was sure he was feeling at the moment.

"Shit!" she yelled, and continued to look for an off switch.

"Yvette! Look I think there is something here," Gunner called. Yvette and Danny looked up at him to see him standing dangerously close to the arch that was growing brighter by the minute.

Yvette moved quickly next to Gunner on the platform where the arch stood. The humming was getting louder and she could feel the machine begin to shake beneath her feet.

"See, right there," Gunner shouted over the machine, as he pointed to the large handle on the side of the arch.

"Are you sure this will shut off?" Yvette called back.

"No!"

"Well I'm going to take the chance, get out of here Gunner!" Yvette ordered.

"No, I'm staying here, Yvette!" he shouted back.

"Gunner, that's an-"

Then a sudden white light was coming from the arch cut off Yvette. The large laboratory was engulfed with a high pitched ringing. The only thing she saw was Gunner standing in front of the white light. Out of instinct, Yvette pushed him off the platform, only to have her caught in the white light. She could feel the light pulling her into the arch while heavy pulses ran through her body, making it hard to breath. Everything around her was shaking, causing a slight dizziness to fall over her. It was like she was slowly sliding into a hot spring, the way the light scorched her skin.

The last thing she saw was Dr. Dufon's face. She could see him saying something to her, but she couldn't hear him. Though, Yvette didn't need to hear him to know what he said.

_Let history take its course and you will find the way out._

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**Author's Notes:** Hello, and thank you for reading my prologue. I hope you enjoyed it. This is the startings of what I hope to be decent story. This story might take some time on the account of my schooling. Though, I plan to finish this story in the future. Reviews and constructive criticism is welcomed, I always like to know what is on your mind. Tips on my writting or just plain suggestions are always helpful, so please do not hesitate.


	2. Chapter 1: An Unexpected Visit

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything that is Sherlock Holmes, you know the drill.

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Chapter 1

An Unexpected Visit

"Watson!" someone shouted, jolting Watson out of his trance. He looked up from the book he was staring at to the man that sat across from him in the chair that matched the one he was currently sitting in. The chair itself wasn't that comfortable considering the material was rotting away.

"Pardon, what did you say?" Watson mumbled, readjusting himself from his awkward position.

The dark haired man sighed and rested his head into his hand. He was quiet for a moment. After running his hands through his messy hair frustratingly, he then looked back at Watson with an annoyed expression.

"This is the third time in the last ten minutes that you have gone into some kind of trance," he said harshly, glaring at Watson. "It's like someone stuffed cotton in your ears and your dead to the world."

"Sorry, I was just thinking."

Holmes just rolled his eyes and leaned back into his chair. Watson watched the flustered man reach into his coat pocket and pulled out his pipe. As Holmes lit his pipe Watson tried to get back to the conversation they were originally having.

"So, as you said the murders are all happening around the dockyards? Do you suppose it would be a fisherman?" Watson suggested, closing his book and placed on the table that was cluttered with a number of junk that Holmes had collected over the years.

"Watson, I think you should seek help," Holmes said suddenly, catching Watson off guard.

"E-excuse me?" he stuttered, staring at Holmes with utter confusion.

The dark haired man let out a heavy sigh again, and then took a long draw on his pipe.

"Watson, it has almost been a year since the death of Mary. I thought with time you would start to get back to your old self, but obviously that's not happening," Holmes explained with a sincerity that was very rare to Watson. "You need help with your depression. It is affecting you in more ways than one."

Watson opened his mouth to protest, but Holmes cut him off.

"Don't try and deny it, old boy. You know as well as I do, that I'm right," Holmes said, staring at Watson.

Watson met Holmes' stare, not breaking it for a few moments. Then he shook his head and turned away.

"I can handle it, Holmes," he told him gruffly.

"If you can handle it, then why are you constantly losing your train of thought?" Holmes challenged. "It has become more common with you every day. This 'trait' of yours isn't good for this line of work."

"It isn't affecting my work at all, Holmes. I am still perfectly capable of solving crimes and taking care of patients," Watson claimed, becoming more agitated by this subject by the minute.

"Watson, I understand what losing a loved one can be like. It can muddle one's mind."

"My mind isn't muddled," Watson snapped, as he glared at Holmes.

"Mary wouldn't-"

"Don't talk as if you knew her, Holmes!" Watson snarled. "You barely knew what she was like, let alone what she would have wanted!"

"Watson-" Holmes tried.

"I don't want to hear another word about this subject," Watson grumbled, as he stood from the grimy chair. He moved towards the dirty window and looked out at the cloudy day. He shoved his hands into his pants pockets and let out frustrated sigh.

Watson didn't realize how long it had been since Mary had died until Holmes pointed it out. It felt like just yesterday he had to put her into the ground. She had died from a violent fever that had overcome London around this time last year. Watson did everything in his power to try to cure the epidemic. He remembered staying awake for days, trying to make different medicines. He would read every book that had the word fever in it, trying to find a fever that matched Mary's. Unfortunately, her fever was like no fever Watson had ever encountered. He was too late to save her when he finally found the cure. The fever had affected her too severely for the medicine to do anything.

Though, he may have saved thousands of other lives, he couldn't save the love of his life. Watson remembers staying locked in their home for weeks, only to be visited by Holmes every so often.

Eventually, after some convincing from Holmes, Watson moved back in at 221b Baker Street. He continued to solve crimes with Holmes like he did when he was a bachelor. Though, Watson didn't believe that he was losing his touch as Holmes had said. He believed that he was doing well and he didn't need "to seek help".

"Ah, well about the dockyard murders," Holmes started, changing the subject after seeing Watson's reaction. "It is not a fisherman as you had suggested, Watson."

"Then a shipwright, perhaps?" Watson added, glad to be talking about something other than Mary.

"That is a possibility. However, I doubt a shipwright would be smart enough not to leave any kind of evidence behind," Holmes contemplated, as he continued to smoke his pipe. "No, this is the work of someone who has killed before."

"What about that gang that lives in the dockyard? They have caused trouble in the past," Watson offered, returning to his seat.

"Yes, of course, they would be the most likely. As I recall, when we were there interviewing yesterday, the gang members stayed far away from the crime scene," he determined, looking up towards the ceiling as though by doing so he could replay the events from yesterday. "I also remember, in particular, a woman carefully studying the scene from a distance."

"I do not remember a woman at the dockyard yesterday," Watson recollected, grooming his mustache with his two fingers.

"Ah, well, to the unobservant," Holmes started, shooting a piercing glare at Watson. "She was dressed as a man. Her disguise was quite excellent. It took me a few glances to see that in fact she was a woman. I also noticed that she was a part of the gang as well."

"How do you know that?" Watson asked, ignoring Holmes earlier insult.

"She had the brass ring on her pinky finger," Holmes said, holding up his own pinky finger. "All gang members have them. Only the important members have a silver ring on their pinky finger."

"Why, Holmes, I had no idea that you knew so much about gangs," Watson replied sarcastically.

"Well yes, that's because-"

"Just get on with your suspicions about the woman," Watson interrupted, not wanting to hear one of Holmes outrageous stories.

"Well, I have no doubt she was involved somehow, even if she wasn't the one who killed those men," he continued with his assumptions.

"Why would a woman be involved with the Dockyard Gang? Wouldn't that be considered a disgrace to the gang?" Watson asked, glancing over at the bulldog that had been lying on his side for far too long for Watson's liking.

"Yes, I thought about that too. She must be either, of great importance, like a daughter of a boss. Or she has great skill that the gang will look past her feminine stature and accept her into their gang," Holmes explained.

Then suddenly there was a knock at the door and Mrs. Hudson entered, not bothering to wait for an answer.

"Hello gentlemen," she greeted, with her usual annoyed expression towards the untidiness of Holmes' room. "I thought you would like some tea, seeing that it is past noon."

"Ah, thank you very much, Mrs. Hudson," Watson replied, smiling kindly at her. She returned the smile as she set the silver tray with the teapot and two teacups on the only clean table in the room. Then she glanced around the room once again and sighed.

"Every time I walk in here, Mr. Holmes, there is more clutter than before," she nagged.

"I like it this way, my dear Mrs. Hudson," Holmes replied offhandedly as he poured himself a cup of tea.

"I'm starting to think you only do it to drive me out of my wits, Mr. Holmes," she answered rather agitated.

Holmes opened his mouth to contradict her, but the sound of a loud crash in Watson's room, prevented him from doing so. The sound of splintering wood and broken glass caused both Watson and Holmes to bolt out of their seats and out of Holmes' room. They stormed out into the hall way and to Watson's door, and threw it open to see what was happening inside.

There, a large hole in the left wall leading into the flat next door was found. Debris was everywhere, and a few of Watson's statues were broken, along with a vase or two. Dust was floating through the air, causing someone to cough. Holmes and Watson looked at each other to see that it wasn't either of them was coughing. Then movement under the debris caught their eye, where someone was pulling themselves out from under the pile of wood and plaster.

Watson made a move to go help the person under the debris, but was stopped by the movement outside of the hole. A large man in mismatch clothing stepped into Watson's room. He had a very sinister scowl as he looked down at the pile of rubble. He plunged his hand into the rubble and grabbed the person beneath it, causing them to cry out in pain.

"You little whore! You betrayed me!" the man bellowed, as he hoisted the person up into the air. From one glance, it looked like a young man, the large man was clutching by the throat. However, gasping coming from the smaller man sounded to feminine to be a man. As Holmes and Watson watched the scene unfold, they could see the womanly figure underneath the men's clothes.

"Hughie, I swear… I would never betray you!" the women gasped, trying to pull the large man's hand away from her throat.

"You lie!" the man snarled.

Just when the two detectives were about to spring in to action, the woman did something no one was expecting. Suddenly, the helpless look on her face disappeared and was replaced by a calm, determined look. She struck the man in his groin with her foot, causing him to drop her and double over in pain. She landed roughly on the floor, but quickly recovered and stood up. She took no time waiting for the large man to recover as she planted a roundhouse kick right into the man's jaw. The curly haired man howled in pain, feeling the blood drip from his mouth. The woman quickly went over to one of Watson's bookshelves and pushed it over onto the man, which made him fall to the floor, stuck under the wooden shelves.

"My books!" Watson cried out, which caused the woman to glance over in the detectives' direction. Her eyes widened when she saw the two men standing in the doorway.

She didn't wait for them to start asking questions, when she wheeled around and ran for the nearest window. Without looking back at the room, she flung the window open and scrambled out onto the balcony. Watson and Holmes watched in confusion as she started to scale their building with ease.

Then the groaning of the man beneath the bookshelf recaptured the detectives' attention. The large man pushed the bookshelf off of himself, and he slowly got back up.

"Whoa, hold on you big brute. Where do think you're going?" Holmes asked, stepping in front of the large man.

The man's small beady eyes met Holmes, and he scowled at him.

"I'm going to go kill that woman," the man growled.

"I don't think so."

The man didn't answer, but he took Holmes by the shoulders and flung him in to the wall on his left. Holmes hit the wall roughly and fell to the ground taking a couple paintings on the wall with him. With Holmes out of the way, the man took off in the direction of the woman.

Watson was still standing in the doorway, a little awestruck from the scene he had just watched unfold.

"I am I dreaming?" Watson asked himself, not expecting Holmes to answer.

"No, Watson, I dare say you're not," Holmes retorted, pulling himself from the ground.

"Wasn't that the woman we were just-"

"Yes," Holmes interrupted, brushing dust off his black coat.

"Should we go-"

"Yes, grab my revolver, would you please?"

"Already ahead of you, ole chap." Watson smirked as he threw the revolver to Holmes and tucked his own into his coat. Then the two men rushed to the opened window where the quarreling couple had jumped out. Watson looked up at the top of the building to see the man pulling himself up and over.

"Are we-"

"Yes."

"Would you quit cutting me off, Holmes!" Watson snapped.

The dark haired man just smirked while he hoisted himself out onto the balcony.

"Just try to keep up, Watson," Holmes called, as he started to climb up the pale building.

Watson rolled his eyes as he followed Holmes out the window. If he recalled correctly, the last time they were chasing a suspect, Holmes was the one who fell behind. Quite literally. Watson didn't bring it up, however, knowing that the genius would deny it.

Watson forgot about their past chase once he hauled himself onto the roof. He wasted no time as he sprinted after the three figures ahead of him. He could see the woman in the distance; her hat had fallen off which revealed her remarkable blond hair. Behind her was the large man running awkwardly after her on the rooftops of the houses of London. In pursuit of them both, Holmes dashed around chimneys and lightning conductors, trying to stop the giant man.

_This is a strange chase._

Watson thought as he raced over the dangerously sloped rooftops. He definitely didn't think he would be doing this today when he woke up this morning.

Suddenly, the woman in the distance tripped and fell onto her face. Watson felt a sinking feeling in his stomach when she did so. The blond struggled to get back up and continue running, but she was stopped when the curly haired man grabbed her foot. She fell again and was dragged back by the man's incredible strength.

He then grabbed her neck again and pulled her up from the ground. The man started to shake her, making her head thrash painfully.

"You turned me in to the Scotland Yard! How dare you, after all I did for you, you went and betrayed me!" the man screamed, using both his hands to choke the young woman.

"Drop the woman now or I'll shoot!" Holmes suddenly called out, pointing his revolver at the man.

The giant man slowly turned around, still choking the blond woman. She was using all her strength trying to stop his hands from crushing her windpipe. The man started to laugh hysterically when he saw Holmes and Watson coming up from behind him with his gun drawn.

Watson could see the woman losing consciousness from the lack of air.

"I hardly believe you two will shoot me!" the man called out. The man pulled one of his hands away from the woman's neck and showed them his pinky finger. At first, Watson looked at him quizzically, but then he saw the gleaming object on his pinky finger. It was a silver ring. This man was a boss of the Dockyard Gang.

Then, a shot rang out in the silence. Watson whipped his head over to look at Holmes' revolver. Though, it wasn't smoking. Holmes was also giving Watson's gun the same puzzled look.

The slow movement of the large man caught their eye again. The man's eyes rolled into the back of his head as he stumbled back, dropping the woman onto the roof. For a split second, the two detectives saw the single bullet hole in the man's chest and then the man collapsed.

Holmes and Watson raced over to the woman to see she was unconscious. Watson kneeled down next to her, putting an ear to her mouth to hear for breathing. To his relief she was. However, he saw blood splattered over her shirt. He started checking her for any wounds when it suddenly hit him.

"She was the one who pulled the trigger," Holmes voiced Watson's thoughts from behind him. "Look at the gun in her hand."

Watson looked at the gun in the woman's right hand. It was the strangest gun he had ever seen. It was so… advanced. It was made of black steel unlike a revolver, and it was more compact. The barrel of the gun was thicker and actually looked more threatening than the revolver.

"Looks like we have someone very important in our hands, Watson," Holmes declared in a tone that disturbed Watson, as he picked up the weapon. "Or somebody who has connections with the right people."

"I'm going to take her back to the house, she needs medical attention," Watson muttered as he scooped the woman up from the roof. "You should have the police pick up the body and tell Lestrade what we found."

"Yes, of course, Watson," Holmes answered offhandedly, as he studied the dead man.

Watson will have to study the body later. He needs to see if there is any kind of evidence connecting him to the murders. He knew the man was involved somehow, and as well as the woman. He knew Holmes would want to interrogate her after she recovers. He looked down at her pinky finger, which had the brass ring on it. She was studying the crime scene so closely for a reason. No one would risk them self like that unless there is a connection. Watson let out a frustrated sigh and continued across the rooftops back to his home.

He hoped that she was worth all this trouble.

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**Author's Note**: Thank you for reading! Also thank you**: lovinlife, The Pyscho Pro, silvanelf, Isis the Sphinx, Ginger Locks,** and **Random Reviews** for all of the lovely reviews. I appreciate it very much. I enjoyed writting this chapter and I hoped you enjoyed reading it. So keep on sending your comments they are always helpful.


	3. Chapter 2: Violence Wasn't the Answer

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything that is Sherlock Holmes, you know the drill.

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Chapter 2

Violence Probably Wasn't the Answer

The sound of something crashing in to the floor, stirred her from her deep sleep. It was then silent again and she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. She was having a pleasant dream about the time she learned how to ride a horse, back on her Father's ranch in Texas. She could almost smell the hay and sweet apples she fed her horse as she nuzzled her face into the pillow. She could feel the haze of the dream start to come back.

Then another loud crash forced her out of that haze.

_It's probably that damn cat again_, she thought as she rolled in the bed again. Her cat Twinkie liked to knock things over when she wouldn't wake up and let him out. She remembered putting away all her fragile things before she went to bed so Twinkie couldn't knock them over. Satisfied that her cat wasn't breaking anything valuable, she felt herself fall back into the dream.

However, there was another crash, and that time it sounded valuable.

"Goddamn it, Twinkie! I'm going to gut you like a fish if you broke any of my china!" Yvette yelled, vaulting up in the bed.

Suddenly, Yvette realized that she wasn't in her room. She felt a wave of dread rush over her as she looked around the unfamiliar room. The room was noticeably tidy, and her room was _never_ clean. It looked like she was in an attic, since the ceiling and walls were not plastered and there was a slight musty smell in the air. She could see one window in the whole room and it was covered with deep red curtains that had flowery patterns on it. She saw a cherry oak armoire across from the bed she sat in. There were a few bookshelves on the right wall and a desk on the opposite wall all matching in cherry oak.

She looked down at the bed to see that it was a rather large bed, larger than the one in her home. The sheets and blankets were tangled around her body from her moving around too much in her sleep. The headboard was also cherry oak and was carved very delicately. Yvette saw two nightstands on either side of the bed that had oil lamps sitting on them.

That was when she saw a large chair pulled up next to her bed. It had the same flowery patterns as the curtains. It looked like someone was watching her as she slept, which made her rather nervous. She looked down at the wooden floor to see that there was a large porcelain bowl filled with warm water and a rag. Whoever it was, they were taking care of her.

Then it all came back to her.

After pushing Gunner out of the white light of the machine, she was caught up into what she concluded to be a wormhole. This wormhole dropped her into 1892 London. Yvette remembered being dropped into the Thames River, almost drowning in the confusion. If it were not for a fisherman who noticed her thrashing in the water, she would have drowned. He was the one who told her where she was and what year it was. Trying not to panic from the startling knowledge, Yvette avoided the fisherman's questions about her attire. She was still wearing her F.B.I vest and with her dark purple button up along with her black pants and boots. Yvette knew she must have looked quite alarming. She heard the man call her gypsy after she refused to tell him where she came from. Once he dropped her off at the docks, she immediately went into her instinct training.

She avoided people was much as she could and found shelter in an abandoned warehouse. For weeks she hid out at that warehouse, trying to formulate a plan. She stole some man's clothes and dressed as a man, seeing that it was easier being a man than a woman in this time period. Stealing was the only way for her to survive.

When it was a month into being dropped into the past, Yvette was nearly going insane with trying to figure out how to get back to 2010. She remembered talking to herself and cursing the scientist that sent her here. She would ask herself over and over, why hasn't anyone tried to come and get her? The F.B.I. should know what happened and try to get her back.

However, she knew the F.B.I. wouldn't come after her. It would be too much of a risk for one agent. She just told herself they would come for her to keep herself from going completely insane.

Though, one day after coming back from the market with food that she had stolen from the stands, she found a piece of paper on her makeshift bed. Thinking it was the F.B.I. trying to contact her, Yvette almost exploded with relief. She feverishly opened the folded paper and read the letter. To her displeasure, it wasn't from the F.B.I.

It was from Dr. Dufor.

He told her that he planned for her to go into the past from the very beginning. In the letter he said that she was the perfect candidate to "get the job done". He didn't make it clear on what job she was suppose to do, but he said that if she did everything he told her to do in the letters he sends, she could come back to the present. Yvette knew from the moment she finished reading that letter she would have to do awful things. Though, at that point, she didn't care anymore. She wanted out of this time period. Yvette was miserable and lonely. Nothing in this time period made sense to her and she would commit any crime just to get out.

The first task she had to do was to get into the Dockyard Gang and become a valuable pawn to them. She didn't question how he knew all these facts; she just did it thinking about the reward.

At first, the gang wanted nothing to do with her, seeing that she was just a lowly woman. Though, when she took out three of their largest men at once, they started to rethink their decision. Yvette did horrible things trying to get into the gang. Things she never wanted to remember as long as she lived.

Once she had their undivided attention, she became a hit man for the gang. With the F.B.I training and experience on her side, she could take out anyone they asked. She mostly killed lowlifes that didn't pay up or betrayed the gang. Killing those people never really bothered her too badly. However, when they started asking her to kill other people that was when she started to get uncomfortable.

Luckily, the gang found another job for her seeing that she earned their ultimate trust. She became a part of a two-man team with a Boss. His name was Hughie Pope. The two of them went around and made deals with important people. Basically, she got to see the corruption in the government. She was like Hughie's bodyguard, always with him, in plain sight or in the shadows.

Yvette was getting use to that way of life. Hughie was kind to her, giving her attention when she needed it. He may have been kind to her, but he was ruthless with anyone who crossed him. So, when she got the second letter from Dr. Dufor, she knew she was going to be seeing that ruthless side of him soon.

For some reason the Doctor wanted her to turn in Hughie to the police. She found it particularly strange after she spent ten months gaining the gang's trust to turn around and destroy it. Though, Yvette remembered the reward for betraying the gang. Yvette knew that in the next few days, Hughie would be killing men who didn't pay their debt. He liked to do it himself when it came to betrayal. She knew that she had to be careful. After Hughie killed four men, Yvette knew that the police would be suspicious and it would be the perfect time to give them a name. The on the night of the last killing, Yvette slipped out and made her way to the Scotland Yard. Dressed as a man she gave the police everything she knew about Hughie and what he did and who he killed. She got out of there as quickly as she could, trying to keep the police from questioning her.

The next day, Yvette carried around her SIG P228 and revolver, concealed in her clothes. If things didn't turn out right, she wanted to be ready. Unfortunately, her suspicions were right. Hughie found out that she had turned him in. Blinded by rage he chased her throughout the streets of London. If she recalled correctly, it ended on the rooftops when she shot him when the two men that were chasing them distracted him.

She remembered passing out from the lack of air. Yvette put a hand up to her neck to feel the bruises, making her wince in doing so. She looked down at her arms to see that they were littered with bruises as well. She remembered being thrown through the wall by Hughie, and her body trembled in pain from the thought.

Another crash from the room below caused Yvette to snap out of her thoughts. She was brought back to the potential danger she was in. Her hand shot to her side where her gun _should_ be.

"Shit," she muttered, as she searched the bed to see if it was there. Then she remembered that she had it in her hand when she passed out. The men, who were chasing Hughie and her, must have found it. This must be their house as well.

"Shit, shit, shit…" she groaned, thinking about the men finding a modern gun. It was one of Dr. Dufor's conditions.

"Don't let anyone see the modern devices or clothes you have. Do not let anyone know that you are from the future. If you do, you will suffer major consequences." She remembered the old man wrote in the first letter. She hated how he used her own words against her. She hated how he used her.

She swept the room looking for some kind of weapon she could use. In the right hand corner, next to the window, she saw a broom.

"That will do," she muttered, as she pushed the covers off of her. She was surprised to find that she was dressed in a long, white nightgown instead of her clothes. Yvette hated dresses. They were so hard to move in, and they always made her trip over her own feet.

She moved so that she sat at the edge of the bed. Her body was screaming for her to stop. She was so sore from her chase from Hughie that it felt like she was just in a bomb explosion but without the wounds.

Yvette sat the edge of the bed for a few moments, trying to gather the strength to stand up. She had to get up. She had to get out of here. She had to find her gun. With those thoughts swarming in her head, Yvette pulled herself up from the bed. She almost lost her balance for a moment, but she recovered and slowly made her way to the broom. Half way through the room, Yvette tripped and fell onto the wooden floor. She froze for a moment, afraid the men below heard her. Once she heard that no one was making they're way to her room, she sat up.

"Alright dress, it is time for you to meet your demise," she whispered, as she took the edge of her dress and started ripping it up her legs. Once she got mid-thigh, she started to rip off the rest of the dress so it looked more like a club dress than an 1800 nightgown. Yvette didn't care, because it was easier to move around in. She pushed herself off of the ground and smiled.

"Ah, much better," she sighed, feeling the freedom to move her legs as much as she needed. Yvette went over to the broom and took it into her hands, getting a feel for it. She simulated hitting someone over the head with it and then jabbing the handle into the gut. "Well, it's all I got," she mumbled, as she quietly made her way to the closed door on the other side of the room.

She opened the door slowly, trying not to make a sound. When she opened it all the way, she saw a staircase leading down to the level below. Feeling the cool wood on her bare feet, Yvette took the stairs one at a time to prevent any creaks in the wood. With the broom firmly in both hands, Yvette strained her ears to hear for any warnings of someone coming her way. On her way down the stairs, two doors came into view. Both of them were open revealing the rooms inside. The room the closest to the stairs Yvette recognized it to be the room she crashed into. It had pale blue paint on the walls and many books and parchment throughout the room. It was very tidy room despite the fact that there was debris everywhere from her being thrown through the wall.

She could hear voices coming from inside the room the closer she got to the landing.

"Can you _please_ be more careful with my things?" a man called out desperately.

"I being as careful as I can be," another man answered in a slightly sarcastic manner.

"Hardly," the other man retorted. "You've already broken three of my vases and one of my picture frames!"

As the two men argued in the closest room, Yvette quietly made her way to the landing and leaned up against the highly decorated wall so the men in the room couldn't see her. She controlled her breathing so she wouldn't panic before a potential fight. Before she could make a break for the second set of stairs leading down to the main level, she had to check for her gun on this level.

She couldn't leave it here because of the time altering phenomenon the insane Doctor told her about. He said that many things could change in the future just by leaving one device behind. Yvette didn't want to have to deal with that when she does get back to the future, so she decided she must follow the Doc's rules.

She took a deep breath and slid against the wall so she was closer to the doorway. She had to look inside the room without alerting the men to see if the SIG P228 was in there.

She closed her eyes and counted to three.

Then Yvette stole a quick glance into the room. She saw the two men had their backs to the doorway, picking up debris. She pulled back before they could sense her presence. She had to steal one more glance to check the surfaces for the gun. Oh how she wished she had a mirror. She could use the mirror to check around the corners without showing her face. It is one of her favorite techniques when she was in a pinch. She never had to stick her neck out to see if there were any enemies waiting for her.

She counted to three again before she took another glance. This time she checked all the tables and the desk. But, she didn't see her firearm. So she focused her attention on the next room. It was much darker than the room before. It had red patterns on the wall and the curtains were drawn, making it hard to spot a black gun from where she stood.

Yvette checked to make sure the men still had their backs to the doorway. To her benefit, they still did. She quickly moved to the other side of the doorway in complete silence.

With the broom still in hand, Yvette moved quickly into the darker room. It was a very cluttered room. Contraptions, books, paintings, and what looked like a makeshift laboratory were buried under the meaningless crap. She saw newspaper clippings of random theft and murder cases along with photographs of a range of people.

"Pack rat," she muttered under her breath, trying not to cough from the smoke floating in the air. Yvette wasted no time in searching for her gun. However, that proved to be harder than she originally thought. She tried not to disturb the room too much; afraid she might cause unwanted noise. Though, she could feel the panic starting to rise in her chest. If she can't find her gun, she might not be able to get back to the present.

That very thought almost put her into hysterics. After all those people she killed, trying to get back to 2010 would have been for nothing. She would be stuck in this time until she died. Her heart was pumping so hard that she could feel it pulse throughout her body.

"Are you looking for this, my dear?" a deep voice called out causally from the doorway behind her.

Yvette froze, feeling her body become numb. She was caught. She was stuck.

_Fight your way out_. Her instincts told her.

Slowly, Yvette turned around to see a dark haired man standing in the doorway with her SIG P228 in his hand. His hair was sticking up in tuffs and his face unshaven, giving him an almost crazy man look. But his dark eyes were very insightful, as though he could see right through her. He was wearing a simple off white long-sleeved shirt with the cuffs rolled up to his elbows and his collar was opened showing his tanned skin. His black pants were full of white dust from cleaning up the dry wall in the other room.

She looked from his face to her gun and focused in on it. He was holding it rather loosely, so she could easily take it from him. If, she could get close enough.

"Not much of conversationalist, are you?" the man asked, leaning up against the doorframe.

Her eyes darted from the gun back to the man's face. He was strangely calm and it made her rather unnerved. She gripped onto her broom; ready for anything the man was about to throw her.

"Yes, I was looking for that," she answered as calmly as she could.

"Ah, you are American," the man stated rather intrigued.

"So, what's it to you?" she asked, taking a step back for distance between him and her.

"Well, the way you like to dress, for one," the man started, taking a step into the room. Yvette looked down at herself to see the ripped dress. She had forgotten how disgraceful it was to show this much leg in the past. "Also, it partly explains how you came by this unique gun," he continued, holding the gun up to his face, inspecting it.

"It's nothing special," Yvette tried, studying the man's body language as they circled each other. He didn't seem like he was about to spring into a fight. Though, Yvette wasn't going to take any chances.

"Oh, but it is. Look at how much ammunition this gun can hold," he explained, taking the clip out of the gun. This was bad he knows how it works. She had already started the time altering process by handling the gun so carelessly. Yvette needed to get the gun and get away from here as fast as possible.

Once the man shoved the clip back into the gun, Yvette took her chance. She darted forward, shoving the handle of the broom into the man's gut. To her advantage, he was taken by surprise. He dropped the gun on the floor and doubled over and groaned in pain. Yvette dropped the broom and scooped up her firearm, cocked it, and pointed it at the man's head.

"Next time, don't handle a gun so carelessly," Yvette said, as she smirked at the man in front of her.

"She's right you know," another voice came from the doorway. Yvette snapped her head over to see a taller man standing in the doorway with a revolver pointing at her. "You always get careless with the ladies, Holmes," the other man continued, taking a step into the room. The darker haired man gave the lighter haired man an annoyed look as he stood with his hands up.

"Take another step and I'll shoot your friend," Yvette threatened, keeping her gun pointed at the man named Holmes.

That usually worked. All humans are cowards, and don't want to be shot. It's just natural. Though, Yvette didn't expect the taller man to take another step towards her. The action alarmed her. Only a few times in her life this had happened, because either they want the person to die, or they think she's bluffing.

Yvette pulled the trigger and expected the man in front of her to fall to his knees, but nothing happened. She pulled the trigger again and realized that she had no ammunition in her gun. So, she did the next best thing. Ran like hell.

Yvette kicked up her broom at the man named Holmes and darted across the room. She dodged the taller man reaching out to her, and ran through the doorway. She ran swiftly down the staircase and headed straight for the front door. Though, the door wouldn't budge. She saw both men trampling down the stairs after her. She turned around and headed deeper in to the house, hoping to find a back door. She ran past a couple of doors and then she ran into what looked like the kitchen.

An older woman was in there making food, when Yvette came storming into the kitchen. She let out an alarming shout probably because of the gun in her hand or the state of her dress. Whatever the reason why she yelled, it didn't matter, because Yvette found a back door. Though, before she could reach the door she felt a hand clapping down on her shoulder.

She elbowed the man behind her, which caused him to let out painful gasp. But, he didn't let go of her. She turned around to punch the man in the nose, but he caught her fist before she could do so. She saw that it was the taller man who was grasping her shoulder. She swung her left fist at his nose again, but he caught that one as well. The two stood in a dead lock, staring each other down. His face seemed to slightly soften when he looked at her.

_Ah, a gentleman, I see._

Yvette could tell by the man's actions that he didn't really want to hurt her. Sometimes living with a bunch of gangsters for a few months one forgets that there are men out there that don't like to hurt women. However, showing sympathy is a major mistake to make with a modern woman who works for the F.B.I.

As the light haired man tried to think of a way to take her down without actually hurting her, Yvette took that moment to attack. She leaned her head back to gain momentum and then slammed it into the man's head causing instant pain to swell up in her head. Though, it got the gentleman to let go of her hands. The man groaned as he held his head in his hands. Yvette shook the pain off only to see the dark haired man running towards her.

"Oh, come on!" Yvette growled. "Give me a break!" she shouted while taking her stance once again. Expecting the man to stop and swing at her, Yvette clenched her fists waiting for the moment to block. Though, the man didn't stop. He continued running, plowing Yvette into the door behind her. He pinned her there so she couldn't move. She saw the man smirk at her, which made her blood boil.

Yvette the slammed her knee into the man's groin and when he let go to double over, once again, Yvette pounded her fist into the man's jaw. She turned to take off again, when she ran into the taller man. Yvette was _really _sick of this coming out of nowhere routine. She tried to doge him, but he caught her arm, jerking her into his direction. She tried to twist out of his grip, but the man only continued to twist her wrist and snapped her arm up wards causing a loud pop in her elbow.

Yvette tried to hold in her agonizing screech as hot pains shot up and down her arm. She could feel tired legs start to give away from the stress she was putting on her already damaged body. She could feel the man press firmly on a sensitive nerve above her left collarbone causing her vision start to fade.

"Goddamn it," she whispered, as she fell forward into the man's arms, completely blacking out.

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**Author's Note:** Hello again, thank you for reading. Also thank you for reviewing again: **The Pyscho Pro, silvanelf, M I Buvered, **and** Isis the Sphinx **it is always apprectiated. And as always send me your thoughts or questions and even suggestions, I welcome everything. I hoped you enjoyed this chapter. I will have the next chapter out soon, I hope.


	4. Chapter 3: Lonegun

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything that is Sherlock Holmes, you know the drill.

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Chapter 3

Lonegun

When Yvette started to come to, again, she became slowly aware of someone's presence in the room. She didn't have to open her eyes to know it was the man who knocked her out. It was part of her training in the F.B.I. Academy. She had to be aware of her surroundings even if she didn't have sight. The man sat in the chair that was pulled up next to her bed. She could hear him calmly breathing and every so often there was a flip of a page of the book he was reading.

"I know you are awake," the man said nonchalantly, flipping another page in his book.

Yvette didn't answer him and continued to lie there, but she opened her eyes and looked up at the blurred ceiling. Her body was ultimately sorer than from the first time she woke up. She could feel her neck throbbing rigorously where Hughie's fingers strangled her. She tried to shift her left arm to a comfortable position, but she found that it was restricted from movement by a sling. It still felt like it was on fire like it did before she passed out. Yvette knew that she was feverish because of the sweat that left a grimy layer on her skin. Also, her body was freezing even though four blankets lied on top of her.

She refused to look at the man next to her, because she had let him take her out so easily. She could just see her Commander, screaming at her for letting her enemies get the better of her. Yvette tried to roll onto her side so that her back was to the man. She didn't want him to see her embarrassment of herself, or any kind of emotion coming from her, in fact. She didn't want him to know what she was feeling. Although, the action of trying to roll over caused a piercing pain shoot down her spine, making her cry out in agony.

Suddenly, the man snapped his book shut and had set it on the end table. She heard him get up from the chair and come closer to her. She tried to move away from him when he came uncomfortably close, but he grabbed her arm gently to stop her.

The action caused her to look up at the man. His electrifying blue eyes caught her own. She thought she would see some kind of cruelty residing in the man's eyes, but what she actually saw was quite to opposite. His eyes were softened with a strange kindness. He offered a small smile when Yvette looked at him, as if it was suppose to calm her. Oddly enough, the simple action of that smile did calm her down enough not to pull away from the man.

"It is alright, I'm a doctor," he told her in soothing voice. Yvette continued to stay silent, sending him a challenging glare. Daring him to make a wrong move. Though, it didn't seem to bother him as he made her sit up so he could start to examine her. His fingers gently grazed over her bruised skin and would occasionally press down on a bruise making her wince. He checked her cuts for infection and applied white cream to a few cuts that were swelling.

"What is your name?" he asked as he applied white cream to a cut on her shoulder. Yvette stiffened from the man's question. She didn't know who the hell these people are. She didn't know if they could be worse than the gang members or loyal citizens who would turn her in if she tells them any thing. Yvette knew better than to give the gang her real name, so should she do the same with these people?

"My name is Dr. John Watson," the man said, in an effort to get her name by giving his own. She saw him glance at her to see her reaction. Yvette was pleased with herself by keeping a straight face from the mention of the Doctor's name. She had heard about him and his partner Sherlock Holmes before in the newspapers. She knew that this Holmes man was like some super detective.

Truth be told, when she was a hit man a few months ago, Yvette was afraid that Holmes would catch on to her. There were a few close calls before, but the gang was able to hide her for a few weeks to throw Holmes off her trail. Yvette knew now she had to be extra careful with what she said when she is around these men. She could be thrown into jail or even worse, executed.

"My name is Yvette," she uttered, turning away from Watson. She knew that if she used her real name instead of her fake name, she could throw the detectives off for a while. It gave her just enough time to get away from them without revealing too much about her.

"Well, Yvette, do you have a last name?" the Doctor continued, as he took the cloth out of the porcelain bowl of now hot water. He started clean around her wound with the cloth. She had to admit, the hot cloth on her skin felt very relaxing.

"Tate," she muttered, trying not to sigh in pleasure.

Watson nodded as he continued to clean the wound. He moved to her face after dipping the cloth back into the bowl. He softly patted her forehead and cheeks, removing the uncomfortable coat of sweat. She looked down at her hands in her lap, feeling slightly embarrassed having someone wash sweat from her face. Though, just being in this state made her embarrassed. She felt a twinge of shame for being so easily beaten and captured.

Hughie had taken her by surprise that day. She had been waiting for him in the rundown flat the two of them stayed in by the dockyard. He went out for his regular intelligence gathering that morning without her, which rarely happened. So naturally, she was worried he found out about her late night trip to the Scotland Yard. But, when he returned, he brought back the breakfast that they usually ate when they were out. She wasn't too sure anymore if he suspected.

When she inquired why he left her behind, he said that she was in a very deep sleep and didn't want to disturb her. Yvette knew it was because she stayed up late that night before. She would normally be up before Hughie because she was still on her regular schedule back in 2010.

So, their day went on as usual. They made their regular stops, collecting money, and threatening people who needed it. Yvette thought she was going to get away with ratting on Hughie by the time noon rolled around. Though, she was sadly mistaken.

On their way back to the dockyard, Hughie suddenly took a turn down a deserted alleyway. It was strange to Yvette, but she dismissed it as she followed him, thinking they were stopping by another "client". However, when Hughie turned around and pinned Yvette to the brick wall, she knew that it was over.

Hughie told her that he knew what she did. He told her that he met with an informant that morning that told him to leave her behind because he had important news about her. Hughie went on to say that he was completely baffled that she would do something to him like that. He kept saying how he had saved her from the wrath of the other bosses who didn't like a woman in the gang. He reminded her of all the things that he had done for her.

Then he reminded her what he did to people that betrayed him.

Yvette immediately realized the danger she was in, and took Hughie out onto the ground and then sprinted off into the city. She couldn't remember the entire chase. She remembers being punched a couple of times, losing her revolver, and running through a house in which she was caught in. She remembers Hughie throwing her through that house's wall and into the detectives' home. The last thing she remembered was the gun shot that killed Hughie.

She didn't want to kill Hughie; in fact, she didn't even wanted to turn him in. If she had a choice in the matter, she wouldn't have gone to the Scotland Yard. Though, if she had a choice at all, she wouldn't be here in the first place. Hughie was the closest thing to a friend she had in this horrid time period. He might have been a little cold to her, but at least he acknowledged her. He was kind in the only way he knew, and she killed him. She betrayed him.

"Can you roll over, please?" Watson said, making Yvette surface from her gloomy thoughts.

She nodded and rolled over painfully with the help of the Doctor. He then began to apply pressure down her spine, which occasionally made her hiss in pain and dig her nails into the sheets. She muffled her cries with the pillow, trying not to let her tears fall. The pure agony in her spine almost made it feel like she had broken it. Though, she knew if she had broken her spine she wouldn't be able to move at all.

Yvette could feel more sweat gathering on her forehead, which was rubbed onto the pillow, making the material very uncomfortable. She knew her hair was greasy just by the way that it felt against her skin.

The more Watson pressed on her spine, the more she wished that she would pass out. Yvette swore she appreciated drug-induced comas more now, than she ever had in her life. Then the pressure on her spine left, leaving her to fight for air. Her spine continued to shoot sharp pains but it wasn't as intense as when Watson was pressing on it.

"I'm sorry, but I had to see how intimate the damage was on your spine," Watson apologized, as he helped her roll back over. "It seems that you have fractured some of the bone in your spine. There is nothing I can do other than give you painkillers. The bone will have to heal by itself over a course of six to eight weeks," the Doctor said, while going over to the desk, which had some medical supplies on it.

She saw him pick up a bottle of clear liquid and inserted a needle into it drawing some of the liquid into the needle. When Watson turned around, she saw how big the needle was and felt her face flush. She knew it was foolish to be afraid of needles after being shot three times, but it was a childhood fear that she never quite got over.

Watson saw a flash of fear on Yvette's face when she saw the needle. He was slightly surprised she was afraid of the needle, seeing that she pulled herself from her sick bed when she could hardly walk. Also, not to mention the fact she didn't flinch when he was pointing his revolver at her two days ago.

"I'll try and make it as painless as I can," Watson said, walking back over to her bedside. Then suddenly, the door opened, slamming into the wall behind it. Both of them jumped from the loud sound shattering the quiet atmosphere. Watson turned around to see Holmes walking confidently into the room looking his usual disheveled self, smoking his pipe. His gaze was focused onto Yvette, reading her and making his assumptions.

Watson couldn't keep himself from rolling his eyes. Holmes was going to make everything more difficult than it needed to be. They had already discussed a day before that Watson would try and get information out of the woman without threatening her, degrading her, or making her uncomfortable. After some convincing Holmes agreed, seeing that the woman was in a lot of pain, physically, and mentally.

Though, Holmes, being Holmes, wouldn't be satisfied unless he was the one pressuring the information out of the woman. Watson sensed the sudden stiffness and hostile feeling coming from Yvette. He glanced at the woman to see her staring daggers at Holmes.

"Ah, I see our patient is awake," Holmes observed, continuing to walk into the room and stand at the footboard of the bed. His insightful gaze was still studying Yvette as she kept sending him a piercing glare.

"Holmes, not now. Miss- it is Miss, correct?" Watson asked, turning back to Yvette. The blond nodded, not taking her eyes off of the detective. "Yes, Miss Tate is in a great deal of pain at the moment. So, would you leave so I can give her the morphine?" Watson told Holmes, giving him a challenging look. He kept giving Holmes signals for him to get out of the room. Watson had it under control and was getting some good information

Holmes looked at Watson with a blank look, and took a long draw on his pipe. It was basically a lost cause. Holmes wasn't going to leave until he got his answers. So he turned back to Yvette and gave her a forced smile.

"Ah, please forgive my bad manners," Holmes started, taking the pipe out of his mouth. Watson tried not to snort, thinking about Holmes and his horrible manners. "My name is Sherlock Holmes," he continued, ignoring Watson's muffled snort. "May I ask for you name?"

"Her name is Yvette Tate," Watson answered for her, seeing that the woman was terribly uncomfortable at the moment.

"Watson, let the poor dear answer for herself," Holmes rebuked, shooting him a glare that was equally as bitter as Yvette's.

"Stop with the false concern, it is making me quite irritated," the woman suddenly interjected making both men look at her with surprise. "I've interrogated enough people in my life to know when I'm being interrogated."

"Oh, you have interrogated people before, Miss Tate?" Holmes asked, his eyebrows rose in interest. "A common tactic done in the gang, I presume?"

Yvette was silent, knowing she said too much. She wasn't thinking before she opened her mouth, which she would normally do. Her mind was very fuzzy, not allowing her to think straight. She knew she was being manipulated because of the state she was in. Holmes was taking advantage of her sluggish thought process. A tactic used every so often by the F.B.I. She knew that because she had done it herself a few times before.

"What else is commonly done in your gang?" Holmes continued, walking to the opposite side of the bed Watson was standing on. "Murder, smuggling goods, and kidnapping sound familiar to you?"

"How do you even know if I'm in a gang?" Yvette asked, keeping her face as impassive as possible.

Holmes picked up her right hand with an unforeseen gentle touch, and took off the brass ring on her pinky finger. He held it up in front of her so she could see his dark brown eye peering through the ring at her. Yvette knew lying about that would now be pointless.

"Also, your little encounter with Hugh Pope proves that you had close relations with the Bosses of the Dockyard Gang," Holmes rationalized, setting Yvette's hand back down on the bed. She watched him put her ring into his waistcoat pocket. "You were at the scene of the last crime Hugh Pope committed and then that very same night you turned him in to the police. Which later caused him to attack you and in which you killed him."

Yvette couldn't hide her surprise by the information the man had accurately presented. She didn't tell anyone anything other than the Scotland Yard. Though, how did Holmes know that it was her that tipped them on Hughie?

"Your obvious confounded expression confirms it. To answer your question, I had the policemen you talked to describe you. In which it matched your appearance as a young man. Seeing that Hugh Pope called you a traitor, I knew it was you who turned in the Dockyard Boss," Holmes elucidated, keeping an unemotional face.

"Alright, fine. I turned in Hughie," she confessed, recollecting her posture. "Why are you interrogating me?"

"I am interrogating you to find out why you would sabotage your relations with a gang that will most certainly kill you," Holmes continued, as he turned away from Yvette and began pacing in the room.

"I can defend myself. I am not afraid of the gang," Yvette huffed, offended by his lack of confidence in her.

"Yes, quite so. After seeing the way you handled your gun and your lack of hesitance when you pulled the trigger on Hugh and myself, it is clear you can defend yourself. Also, your body is in top physical condition which is very strange for a woman, as well as your combat skills," Holmes analyzed, placing the pipe back in his mouth. "Your skin is slightly tanner and you have faint freckles on your cheeks therefore concludes you use to spend many hours in the sun. However, London does not get that amount of sunlight to cause those effects."

Yvette narrowed her eyes at Holmes, trying to figure out what the man was gaining by pointing out her physical features.

"I noticed that you have slightly bowed legs which is a result from riding a horse constantly in your childhood. Also, you have a mild southern American accent that you have learned to subdue over the years. From this information, I gather you are from Texas where you grew up on a horse ranch," Holmes explained, smugly watching Yvette's reaction to his accusations.

Yvette couldn't deny it; she was completely dumbstruck by the detective's accurate claims. She had only talked to him once before and he was able to see all those things. Hell, she didn't even come from this time period and he knew where she grew up! This was starting to get dangerous.

"So, being an American woman coming from a very proud state, what are you doing here in London, England?" Holmes asked, walking back to Yvette's bedside. He watched her closely to see any sign of discomfort or any small characteristic that would give him idea of what her purpose was.

Yvette remained silent, knowing if she answered that question her hope of getting out of this dump would shatter. She avoided Holmes and Watson's eyes afraid that by looking at them she would give away her secret. She needed to get out this house as fast as she could.

"May I ask why are you gentlemen holding me hostage in your home?" Yvette asked politely, trying to turn the tables in her favor.

"H-hostage? Why we're not holding you hostage," Watson piped in, standing up from the chair.

"Then why am I not in a hospital?" she asked, her sharp gaze landing on the Doctor.

"Because you are a suspect, Miss Tate," Holmes interjected.

"A suspect in what?"

"In a number of murders that suspiciously surround the Dockyard Gang. Since you _were_ a gang member," Yvette noticed how Holmes emphasized on were as he continued his explanation. "You might be able to get out of those charges free-"

"Charges? What charges?" Yvette interrupted, her heart pounding in her chest. She saw the dark haired man smile haughty at her.

"The charges for the murders by a hit man named Lonegun," Holmes said, raising one eyebrow at her. Shit, she should have known. If he was able to figure out she grew up on a horse ranch then he must of known she use to be hit man. "If you give us more information about the gang, I just might let Lonegun slip from my grasp," Holmes suggested pretending to inspect his fingernails.

"How the hell did you know?" Yvette demanded, feeling slightly hysterical from the situation she had been placed in.

"Your methods never changed. You do not like killing people up close and personal, as it were. Hence, your name, Lonegun. The revolver you used was always the same, the bullet wound was always square in the head," Holmes said, as he started to pace next to her bed. "I noticed how you avoided Hugh Pope while he was chasing you. You had a gun with you the whole time he was trying to kill you and you never tried to kill him up until the moment when you thought you were going to die. A simple connection, however I didn't piece it together until you were pointing the gun at me."

Yvette watched as Holmes pointed to the middle of his forehead where she had aimed her gun.

"You didn't tremble when Watson pointed his gun at you like a regular woman would have. You were trained to be precise, quick, and professional, Miss Tate. I would almost say military."

If only he knew.

"So, Miss Tate, I would like names and the crimes they are connected to. Otherwise, you will be taking the fall for them all and I know how much you hate those lowlifes," Holmes muttered, his face coming dangerously close to her own.

Holmes and Yvette stared each other down, refusing to retreat from the challenge. She just kept sending him unsaid hatred, wishing he would shrivel up and die. This man, ever since she landed in this time period had caused misery for her, even if she didn't meet him until two days ago. His presence loomed over London, waiting for her to screw up so he could capture her. Now he threatened her freedom and her ticket home. Yvette knew she had no other choice.

Though, it doesn't mean she was going to make it easy for him.

"I will give you names, but I would like my weapon in my possession first," Yvette growled, her eyes never leaving Holmes'.

"A creature of habit, I see," Holmes muttered. Then Holmes pulled away from Yvette and smoked his pipe. "I will give you your curious firearm and in return you will give me names. Do we have a deal, Miss Tate?" Holmes asked, holding out his hand to shake.

Cautiously, Yvette studied his hand while she thought about the deal. She went through the deal, thinking of all the possible loopholes.

"You promise you won't turn me in to the Scotland Yard?" she asked, her gaze landing back on Holmes.

"I promise," Holmes swore.

She narrowed her eyes, studying Holmes.

"Then we have a deal, Mr. Holmes," Yvette settled, taking Holmes' hand and shook it firmly. They both pretended to smile pleasantly at each other when they both knew that they had a grudge against the other.

"I will go get the parchment and ink for you," Holmes started, while he headed for the door.

"Not now Holmes," Watson interrupted. Yvette had forgotten about the Doctor because he had stayed silent while watching the two bicker. "She needs painkillers and to rest. She has been under enough stress for today, no thanks to you."

Holmes stopped and turned to Watson and the two men met each other's challenging gaze. Then Holmes turned back to Yvette and saw her extreme exhaustion that he had ignored earlier. Keeping an unemotional expression, he nodded and turned back to Watson.

"Right, carry on, Watson," Holmes huffed, and then walked out of the room.

As Watson turned back to Yvette, she saw him roll his eyes at Holmes. The two men seemed to act like brothers, though their physical features suggested other wise.

"Miss Tate, I have to inject the morphine in the muscle near your spine. I am sorry if I cause embarrassment," Watson started uncomfortably.

Yvette stared at him quizzically for a moment before it dawned on her. He would have to lift up her dress to inject the needle in her back. Watson was a gentleman, so, she realized how it would be more embarrassing for him then her.

"It's alright Dr. Watson, I understand," she said weakly, letting her vigorous demeanor fall. "Help me roll over, please."

Watson nodded and helped Yvette turn over onto her front once again. She felt the Doctor hesitantly lift up her dress, letting the cool air rush onto her back. She knew a woman from this time era would be terribly embarrassed and violated. However, Yvette was comfortable with her body. It wasn't like she hadn't shown off her body before at a beach or a fancy club. She wasn't ashamed at all. Where she comes from, you never went a day without seeing a half naked woman on the T.V. or in some kind of ad.

Now that Yvette thought about it, women were much more open with their body's in the future than ever before. In a way it was a good thing and in other ways it was bad. Though, everyone is desensitized from the way things are, in 2010 or 2011 now that is has been almost a year since she landed in the nineteenth century. People could watch someone's guts be eaten by a zombie and never bat an eye. It made her wonder how things would be thirty years from 2011.

"Take a deep breath," Watson commanded, interrupting Yvette's thoughts. She took in a deep breath and held it. Then she felt the needle piercing her upper back near her spine. She felt the same agonizing pain rush over her as Watson administered the morphine into her body. Once Watson pulled out the needle, Yvette let out her breath while she tried not to cringe from the pain.

After she was rolled back onto her back, Watson fixed her sling making sure her arm wouldn't move to disturb the splint. Yvette was going to thank him for treating her, but then she remembered _he_ was the one who dislocated her elbow. She felt another twinge of shame in her chest just thinking about it. She would thank him later when she wasn't so angry.

"The morphine should take effect in a few minutes and you will go back to sleep. There are some side effects to morphine, so do not worry if anything strange starts happening, its just the medicine," Watson explained as he went back to the desk and started to put the bottles back into a bag.

Yvette knew what kind of side effects the Doctor was talking about. She remembered the horror stories her Father told her about the illusions he had when he was on morphine after surgery. The truth was, Yvette slightly afraid of what she might see in the next few hours. However, as the excruciating pain started to fade in her back and arm, Yvette forgot about the hallucinations. She became extremely tired suddenly and couldn't keep her eyes open.

The last thing she saw before she fell into another deep sleep was the Doctor sitting in the chair with his head in his hands. For a split second, Yvette she felt sorry for him and didn't have the faintest idea why.

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**Author's Note:** Hello again. Thank you for reading and thanks to: **The Pyscho Pro, Isis the Sphinx, Doodles-In-The-Margins, KimTheKat, **and **Nelle07** for the reviews. I appreciate it very much. I surprised myself on how quickly I wrote this chapter, I hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writting it. So keep sending your lovely comments, they are always welcomed.


	5. Chapter 4: A Mission

**Disclaimer**: I do not own anything that is Sherlock Holmes, you know the drill.

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Chapter 4

A Mission

Yvette felt incredibly warm as she rolled uncomfortably in her bed. She knew it must be the fever affecting her, but her body was so hot that she was forced to wake up and remove some of the blankets that lied on top of her. As she sluggishly moved the blankets, Yvette caught a glimpse of a figure standing in the far corner of the room. At first she thought nothing of it, thinking she imagined it. But, when she looked back at the corner, the figure was still standing there.

There was a shadow across his face, so, she couldn't see who it was. The man had an average build. His hands were carelessly shoved in to his deep pockets as he comfortably stood in the corner watching her.

Yvette felt somewhat threatened by the figure as he continued to watch her in silence. She immediately took the offensive to drive away the threat.

"Dr. Watson if you find this amusing, I assure you that you are terribly wrong," Yvette called out in the strongest voice she could at the moment. She waited for the figure to answer, but he never did. Inside her head, Yvette's warning bells were going off. Something was very wrong and she needed to flee. However, in this state, she could barely get up from the bed let alone run from the room.

"Who are you? I demand you tell me or-"

"Or what, my dear Special Agent Tate?" a familiar voice interrupted, causing Yvette to go into a paralyzing silence. "We both know you can do nothing in the state you're in."

Suddenly, all air escaped her, and her hands began to shake uncontrollably. She knew now that she was in extreme danger.

"Oh come now, you must be happy to see me after all those months of not seeing anyone from the future?" Dr. Dufor mocked as he walked out of the shadow and towards Yvette. He was still wearing the same lab coat and khaki pants as she had last seen him in all those months ago. His soundless leather shoes crossed the wooden floor, creating an eerie silence between the two.

"Stay away from me," Yvette squeaked, failing to sound as menacing as she had wished.

The Doctor chuckled softly as he pushed his glasses higher onto the bridge of his nose.

"Still demanding things when you have no authority, I see," Dr. Dufor observed, his gray eyes boring into her being.

"What do you want?" she asked, trying to gain control when she knew she had none. Silently, Yvette begged that he came to take her back to the future. But no matter how much she wished for it, she knew better than to expect that from Dr. Dufor.

"I can't come and check up on my agent without some kind of ulterior motive?" he asked sarcastically, his glasses glinting from the light of the lone candle on her nightstand.

"No," Yvette retorted, subconsciously pulling her blankets closer to her chest.

"Well, you are quite right," the doctor replied, his haunting smile returning to his lips. "I was right to pick you for this job, Yvette, you are a very sharp young lady."

Yvette cringed when her name rolled off his tongue, it didn't feel right to hear it out of his mouth. It was more like an insult to her than a comfort. She desperately wished he would leave her to wallow in her pain. Yvette didn't know how much more she could take of his missions.

"I came here to tell you that you must stay with Mister Holmes and Mister Watson for as long as you possibly can. They are the key to your freedom, Miss Tate," the doctor explained, his haunting smile disappeared and was replaced with a grim line. "Do whatever you have to, but you must get them to trust you."

"So I can just kill them in the end like I did with Hughie?" Yvette spat. Her fear was quickly fleeting, revealing the anger that was hidden within. She didn't care if Hughie was a murderer; she was the one who murdered him. She couldn't do it anymore. She was done murdering people that she didn't need to. Even if it counted on her freedom, her conscious was clouded enough.

The Doctor suddenly sighed, catching Yvette off guard.

"Hughie's death was one I didn't plan, but it doesn't matter. He is out of our hair now." Dr. Dufor rubbed his chin subconsciously, appearing to be deep in thought. "Though, if things go as planned this time, you won't have to kill the gentlemen. I would even advise you not to. They are the key to everything I've been working for."

Yvette glared at him thinking if she stared hard enough she would figure out what he was planning.

"What if I don't agree to help you anymore?" she asked, continuing to glare at the gray haired man. The Doctor immediately reeled in his thoughts and turned his attention back on Yvette. She watched a shadow cross his face, which made him appear more sinister. He took the last few steps towards Yvette closing their distance within seconds, causing Yvette to shrink into her bed.

"I will kill you, and I will leave your body here in this time period to rot in the cesspool you hate. Then I will kill your family, your brothers, your mother and your paralyzed father. I will torture them to the point you can't even recognize their dead bodies," the doctor growled, grabbing the collar of her dress and pulled her closer to his face. She could feel his hot breath on her face almost making her choke. She watched his smile twist evilly when he saw the horror displayed on her face. "You better do what I say, Tate, or I will destroy everything you love."

Then he released her, pushing her roughly back into the bed. She let out a painful gasp when her back made contact with the headboard. She refused to cry in front of this monster, so she furiously rubbed her face and glared back up at the Doctor.

"Become trustworthy with the Detective and his partner and we won't have any problems."

Before Yvette could react, she felt a cloth smashed into her face. She couldn't stop herself from breathing in the chloroform in time and she instantly saw the edges of her vision disappearing. The last thing she saw was the Doctor smiling grimly down at her as he held the cloth firmly over her face. Then everything was dark.

Yvette sat up quickly in her bed gasping for air, clutching her throat. She looked around frantically remembering what the Doctor had done to her. From the looks of it, he was long gone. The once dark room was now filled with sunshine from the afternoon sun in the window. She must had been out for hours, it had only felt like a few seconds, if that. Then she remembered his threat against her family and Yvette fought the tears growing in her eyes. She couldn't let her family die no matter the cost, even if she was stuck in this time period for the rest of her life. They had no part in her dangerous job and shouldn't suffer from it either.

Before she knew it, Yvette was sobbing uncontrollably, almost to the point of hyperventilating. All the drugs in her system made her feel like her head was exploding and she could feel herself spinning out of control. A visit from that horrible doctor did nothing but worsen her condition.

"Oh dear, what's wrong?" a worried voice came from the doorway of her room. Yvette didn't even bother to see who it was, but tried to hide her face, ashamed to be caught in such a vulnerable state. She tried to suppress her sobs, only to cause her to go into a hiccup fit.

"It's nothing, I'm just- I'm just…" Yvette couldn't finish her sentence because she was so upset. She waved her hand, trying to signal the person to leave her be. She pulled up her blankets and tried to wipe away the tears as best as she could.

Suddenly a warm gentle hand was placed on her back, causing Yvette to jump and pull away. But she couldn't help but look at the owner of the hand. She was met with the face of an older woman, which was twisted with worry. She could see the growing wrinkles around the woman's mouth and crow's feet at the corners of her eyes. Her strawberry-blond hair was starting to gray at her temples and was pinned neatly in a bun high on her head. Yvette realized that the woman was just past middle age and growing older. But she looked surprisingly strong for a woman her age. She was wearing a simple dress that most workingwomen wore. Though, it still looked significantly fancier than what Yvette was use to wearing.

"You poor dear, you are just a mess," the old woman sighed, her English accent strangely relaxed Yvette. "Here, use this." Yvette looked down at her hand to see she was offering a handkerchief. Yvette slowly took it, slightly alarmed by the kind offer after encountering Dr. Dufor.

"Thank you," Yvette said weakly as she dabbed her eyes with the soft material.

The fair-haired woman smiled kindly in return as she watched Yvette.

"Was it a hallucination?" she asked suddenly. "Dr. Watson told me you might have some that could disturb you terribly."

Yvette remembered Dr. Dufor's haunting words and his taunting actions and Yvette knew that it was no hallucination. However, she couldn't tell the old woman that a man from the future threatened to kill her family and her. She would truly think Yvette went crazy.

"Yes, it-it was a hallucination…" Yvette hiccupped, as she lied back against the headboard. The woman nodded and then turned to a silver tray on her nightstand that she must had brought in.

"Would you like some tea?" the woman asked, gesturing to the delicate teapot that was made of white porcelain painted with yellow flowers on the side. Yvette nodded, not bothering to fight the hiccups. She watched the woman pour the tea into a small teacup that looked like it belonged in her grandmother's china cabinet. She handed Yvette the white teacup, steam rising from the dark liquid. Quietly, she sipped the tea, letting the hot fluid roll on her tongue. She still would have preferred the strong caramel savor of her latte, but the tea would have to do at the moment.

After a few moments of silence between the two women, Yvette realized that she didn't know who this woman was.

"Um, sorry for asking," Yvette started awkwardly. "But, who are you?"

The woman stared at her for a moment making Yvette think she insulted the old woman. When the woman started to laugh softly, Yvette felt slightly relieved and confused.

"Oh, you must forgive me, dear, I have been looking after you for these past few days. I have forgotten that you do not know me," the fair-haired woman explained. "My name is Mrs. Hudson, I am the landlady of this complex."

"A landlady for a popular Detective, that must be very interesting," Yvette commented, as she continued to sip her tea. Mrs. Hudson smiled gingerly at Yvette and poured herself a cup of tea.

"Yes, it can be _very_ interesting at times," Mrs. Hudson, replied. "But both Mister Holmes and Dr. Watson are gentlemen and respected members of the community so I have no room to complain."

Yvette nodded respectfully and looked out the window at the glowing sun. She hadn't been outside for days. Even if the weather were always somewhat gloomy, the fresh air would be greatly appreciated. By the looks of the sun, it was probably a nice fall day.

"Well how about we start your day with a bath, you look like you need it," Mrs. Hudson interrupted, standing from the chair.

"That sounds perfect," Yvette agreed. She could feel the coat of sweat and grime covering her body. She probably smelled horrible too.

"I will go prepare it for you right now," she stated, pushing a strand of hair out of her face. "You stay here and keep drinking that tea, you need to get those awful drugs out of your system."

Yvette agreed full heartily, her head was still pounding from the morphine. She definitely will not be taking anymore of that, even if she had to wrestle Dr. Watson to the ground. She watched Mrs. Hudson leave the room quietly, almost as quietly as Dr. Dufor. Immediately Yvette regretted the thought. She desperately tried to push out the dreadful thoughts from her head, but failed miserably.

How was she supposed to earn the dynamic duo's trust when _she_ didn't really trust them to begin with? She knew for sure that Sherlock Holmes didn't trust her at all, remembering their last conversation about her murders. She was actually surprised to wake up and find she was still in this room and not a prison. She guessed that Holmes was truthful to his word, which was a relief no doubt about it. That also meant that if she gives him the names of the gang members then she would get her gun back. Maybe Holmes would start to have more trust in her afterwards and she could go from there.

Yvette knew that with her injuries that she would be staying here for some time seeing that if she was placed in a hospital, there was more of chance she would be sent to prison. That would break Holmes' promise to her. She could gain their trust the more time she spent with them. But that also meant she had to be careful as well. Holmes already knew so much about her and if he knew any more, her chances for freedom would be lost.

Yvette rolled uncomfortably in her bed, letting out a sigh. Her head hurt too much to be thinking so intensely about her plans. Her hand slid under her pillow where she felt a folded piece of paper. Frowning, Yvette pulled it out and studied it carefully. It was a yellowed piece of paper that was folded into a small square. It looked like it had been in a pocket for a long period of time. Yvette opened it slowly, trying not to rip the delicate material. When she opened it all the way there was a small message written in the middle of the paper in familiar handwriting.

_I would advise you to go back to your old flat and retrieve your equipment before your caretakers start searching it._

Yvette stared at the message, anger starting to boil. He was everywhere! She would never be able to escape from his grasp. He was always leaving notes or threatening her, commanding her to do the impossible. If she had a gun on her she would have shot him last night and been done with it. Then the only problem would be getting home. He probably showed up last night because she didn't have a gun and was drugged up. That coward.

However, the Doctor was right. She would have to go back to Hughie's flat to get her future devices and clothes hidden in the walls. It was a pain in the ass to get the equipment in with out Hughie noticing. She would have to be quick, which would be very destructive and probably leave evidence behind. Holmes no doubt would figure it out if she just left everything there, though. Yvette would have to do it soon; her "caretakers" could be heading over there any day now, maybe even tonight. How was she supposed to get halfway across town with an injured vertebra and dislocated elbow? She would have to get a cab or steal a horse and suck up the pain.

Then, Mrs. Hudson re-entered the room interrupting her thoughts. Yvette noticed that she carried herself as a woman with pride. Yvette does not see this too often anymore, most women try to make themselves invisible in this time period. It actually made her smile to see another woman who had confidence in herself.

"Come dear, let me help you to the lavatory," she said, pulling the covers off of Yvette. She offered her hand to Yvette and pulled her slowly out of the bed. Yvette couldn't hold in the groan as she moved from the bed and was aided by Mrs. Hudson from the room. She had never experienced pain like this before. Being shot wasn't so bad because once the bullet had been remove the pain eventually became a sore bruise. Her back, however, was a constant pain that seemed like it wasn't getting better.

Mrs. Hudson continued to help Yvette down the stairs towards the lavatory on the second floor. Yvette started studying her surroundings, trying to block out the incredible pain. She noticed that the door into Holmes' room was open and she could hear voices coming from the dark room. She couldn't make out what they were saying, but she knew it was Holmes and Watson. They were probably discussing her and the murders and any other details that she was unaware of.

"Right in here, love," Mrs. Hudson said, guiding Yvette to the door on her left. They entered into a small room where a large metal tub of warm water sat in the middle of the room. To her right she saw a vintage toilet and water basin. She hadn't seen a working toilet in months and she couldn't help but sigh in relief. "I believe you are capable of taking care of yourself from here, yes?"

"Yes, Mrs. Hudson," Yvette replied, taking a seat in the wooden chair in the corner. "Thank you."

"Of course, I will be back after you finish to help you back up the stairs," she said, heading back out into the hallway closing the door behind her.

Yvette immediately undressed and carefully slipped into the tub of hot water. She had to be careful with the splint in the water. She sighed again, feeling the warm water engulf her and wash away the dirt and grim that she had been accumulating for the past month. As she silently lay in the tub, she could hear voices in the hallway.

"Ah, there you are Mrs. Hudson, how has Miss Tate been today?" a voice, that was no doubt Dr. Watson's, asked the landlady.

"She slept for the first half of the day and when I went up to check on her at two, I found her sobbing in bed. The poor dear must of experienced a horrible hallucination from that drug you gave her," Mrs. Hudson told the doctor.

"Yes, I expected that," Dr. Watson mumbled, probably thinking of a new drug to give her. "Is she better?"

"I believe so, but her back seems to bother her still. She is bathing at the moment, but you can check on her afterwards."

"Well, yes, but Holmes and I are on our way out to meet with Lastrade. We need to find the address that Mr. Pope was living at. We have reason to believe that Miss Tate was staying with him and we are hoping to find more evidence there," Dr. Watson explained.

"More evidence for what? I thought you said Miss Tate would give you the names for the murders," Mrs. Hudson questioned.

"There is more to it, Mrs. Hudson, I cannot say anymore since this case is still in progress. It will make sense soon enough," he replied. "We must be going, good afternoon, we will be back in the evening."

" Good afternoon, Dr. Watson," Mrs. Hudson acknowledged, and then footsteps continued down the hallway.

What the hell did that mean, "there is more to it"? Holmes wasn't just after the gang murders? What else was there? What was she missing? Well it didn't matter at the moment because the two detectives were on their way to find the flat she was staying at.

"Dammit," she growled, gripping the side of the tub. This means that Dr. Dufor was right, again. Now she had to find a way to get out of the apartment without Mrs. Hudson knowing. This was going to be tough. As Yvette started going through all the possible escape plans, there was a knock at the door.

"It's me, dear," Mrs. Hudson called.

"Come in."

Mrs. Hudson walked in with neatly folded towels and what looked like gray trousers, a dress shirt and her riding boots.

"I brought you some towels and a pair of trousers. After you destroyed the only dress that fits you, I figured it would be best if you had something to cover up your legs. I will be going to the tailor tomorrow with your measurements for new dresses," she explained as she set them on the wooden chair.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, the trousers will do," Yvette replied, flashing Mrs. Hudson a smile. Then she turned to leave again.

"I'll be just right outside when you're done dressing," she said, closing the door behind her.

Yvette then got out of the tub and dried herself off. She then continued to dress slowly, buttoning up the dress shirt and pulling the trousers on and tucking in the shirt into the trousers. She then clipped on the suspenders to the trousers and pulled them over her shoulders. After that she sat down and slipped on her leather-riding boots that she had stolen a couple months ago over the trousers.

She then tied her sling on again as best she could and then opened the door to find Mrs. Hudson.

"Feeling better?" she asked, taking the girl's good arm and helping her up the stairs once more.

"Yes, much better, thank you, again," Yvette replied, as she grimaced from the pain.

They re-entered Yvette's room and Mrs. Hudson guided her to the armchair next to the bed. Yvette took a seat and let out the breath she was holding. She was terribly out of shape and that was going to come back and bite her in the butt.

"You rest here, dear, in a couple of hours I will bring up supper for you. Dr. Watson will be back by then too and he can check up on you and maybe help with your pain in a better way than the morphine," Mrs. Hudson explained. "There are some books you can read on that bookshelf to help pass the time."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson. My time here will be more bearable because of your kindness," Yvette thanked, once again. The landlady was indeed a very charitable woman and she meant every word she said. The other two were the ones who were going to cause her problems.

"I'm happy you feel that way, Miss Tate," she replied, heading towards the door. "Now rest, I'll be back in a couple of hours."

Then with that, Mrs. Hudson left the room once again. Yvette immediately continued to plan her covert mission. No one can know that Yvette had left and the two to three hour window that Mrs. Hudson left open was the perfect time to carry out said mission. If Holmes found out that she had left the house, he would know it was she who tore open the walls in the flat. Yvette knew that the Scotland Yard would have a hard time finding Hughie's flat so that would give her a slight advantage. She would still have to be quick. Also, she would be going into the Dockyard Gang territory by going to the flat. She would have to be careful. The gang would be searching for her now and they would shoot her on the spot. She would need a weapon, but she had none on her at the moment.

Yvette sighed, and pulled herself up from the chair. If she were going to do this, she would have to do it now. Quietly, Yvette headed towards the door and opened it and the closed it behind her. She descended down the stairs just like the last time, careful not to cause the wood to creak underneath her shoes. The whole time, her lower back was inflamed with pain from all the movement she had been doing today.

She walked silently down to the second floor and down the hallway. When she reached Mr. Holmes' room, she paused. He would probably have a weapon stashed away somewhere under all the clutter. Yvette didn't feel safe traveling through London without something to defend herself, so she crept into Holmes' room, surprised to find the door unlocked.

Yvette scan the dark room while trying wave away the smoke hanging in the air. Even when he wasn't in the room, it still smelled like the tobacco or whatever he was smoking in his pipe. Quickly, Yvette started to search the tabletops and desks, until she found a revolver that had a weird attachment on the barrel in one of the desk drawers. It almost looked like a vintage silencer. Well it didn't matter it because it had ammunition, so Yvette unscrewed the attachment and placed it back in the drawer as she pocketed the revolver.

She was about to leave the room when she spotted herself in a dusty mirror. Her damp blonde hair was down and everyone would clearly see that she was a woman. Glancing around the room one more time, Yvette spotted a bowler hat on the piano and a jacket in a pile next to it. She grabbed the hat and piled all her hair on top of her head and pulled on the hat to hide it. She then slipped on the jacket, noticing that it was much bigger on her, but it was to her advantage that it covered her sling so that it wasn't so noticeable.

Satisfied with her attire, Yvette left Holmes' room as quietly as she had entered. She then stood at the top of the stairs that led down to the foyer. She stayed there for a moment, straining her ears to make sure no one was down there. Once convinced that no one was below her, she glided soundlessly down the stairs and into the foyer. Peeking around the corner and down the hall that led to the kitchen, Yvette made sure Mrs. Hudson was where she said she was.

She could hear pots and pans clanging past the door, which confirmed her whereabouts. Yvette headed for the front door and then was out of sight.

Breathing in the somewhat fresh air of the streets of London, Yvette couldn't deny that she was relieved to be free from that room. She hated staying in one spot for too long. It was why she joined the F.B.I. There was always a new case, a new puzzle to solve, and a new city to see. She couldn't deny that the time with the gang was entertaining as well. Even if she did commit crimes, she explored a new city and did things she usually didn't do.

Yvette blended in with the crowds on the side walks heading south towards the dockyards. She didn't want to stand out just in case someone recognized her. Now she had no allies. She use to have the gang to fall back on if she ran into trouble, but now she could either be arrested or shot. She wanted neither.

She continued to walk down the cobble stone streets until she came to a pub. There were many horses in the stable next to the bar. Yvette casually walked into the stable, looking over the horses. She walked to the end of the stable where she found a horse that wasn't in bad shape. Acting like she owned the horse, Yvette called the stable boy and had him saddle the horse for her. She tipped the boy with a few shillings she pickpocketed from a man on the street and then mounted the horse and left the stable. Setting the horse to a slow trot so not to jostle her back, Yvette felt confident that she would make it to the flat before Holmes would. Lastrade probably didn't know Hughie's address, so that would mean Holmes would have to look else where, which could take some time. Hughie was always careful about who he gave his address to.

As she approached the flat, Yvette kept a sharp eye out for the patrol. Dark clouds were starting to gather in the horizon, which would help to keep a low profile because of the poor visibility. She maneuvered the horse down an alleyway next to the rundown building and tied him off to a post. She dismounted and headed for the side door in the alleyway.

Quickening her pace, despite the pain, Yvette climbed the stairs to her flat knowing that her time was growing short. Mrs. Hudson would be heading up to her room in about an hour. She finally made it to the fifth floor and she started down the hallway, pulling out the revolver. She wasn't stupid; gang members could be waiting in the flat for her. Her steps became softer as she approached the door. She reached for the spare key at the top of the doorframe and then unlocked the old and rotting door.

She pushed open the door, pointing the revolver into the room, checking for any signs of movement before she stepped in. It still looked exactly the way they left it the morning that she killed Hughie. One window, dingy wooden floors and two beds and a table and chairs was all in the room. It still smelled like mildew and was terribly uncomfortable. After all this time, she never understood why a boss of the Dockyard Gang lived in such horrible conditions. Where did the money they made go? Surely Hughie had enough to rent a better flat, so why didn't he? Yvette shook her head to rid herself of these thoughts she needed to focus.

Closing the door behind her, Yvette then walked across the flat to the closet. She opened it up and grabbed the sledgehammer they had kept in the closet as a back up weapon if they had ever needed it. Undoing the sling on her left arm, she walked to the opposite wall where a lone picture hung that hid the bad patch up job she did when she hid her belongings in the wall months ago. She was probably going to re-injure her elbow by doing this, but it had to be done.

She ripped the picture off the wall and then grabbed the sledge hammer with two hands and wound up and then smashed the hammer into the wall causing the whole wall to tremble. Yvette continued to do this, with frequent breaks, until the hole in the wall was big enough she could reach in. She threw the hammer on the floor and then reached her arm into the wall and felt around. She grabbed her sack and pulled it out and set it on the floor and then reached back in and grabbed her Benelli Supernova pump-action shotgun. She had missed her shotgun. It was so much easier to take out targets with the Supernova than her revolver. She checked the barrel and saw that all six shells where still loaded.

Yvette then turned back to the sack and checked to see all her electronics along with her clothes. Satisfied that everything was still there, Yvette threw the sack over her shoulder and tied it so it stayed on her back. Then with her Supernova slung over her shoulder, she headed for the door, knowing that everyone in the building heard her pounding away at the wall and would soon come to investigate. She couldn't have any witnesses of her in the apartment or when Holmes questioned them and he would know it was her.

But as she made for the door, she heard footsteps coming towards it. Quickly she moved next to the door so when it opened she would be hidden by it. She got her shotgun in position despite how her left arm was dying in pain from the sledgehammer. Then the door flew open, almost smacking Yvette in the face. Yvette could tell there were three men by their footsteps as they slowly entered the room. She just prayed that it wasn't Holmes.

"Looks like she was already here and gone," one of the men commented.

"She was in a hurry too, look the mess she made. Whatever she was hiding in that wall must have been important," another said.

Yvette knew those voices and they were not Holmes and Watson. They were from the gang; they must have spotted her heading to the flat. Yvette felt strangely relieved at the thought it wasn't the dynamic duo. She knew that she could take care of these guys. Then Yvette slammed the door shut, causing the three men in front of her to jump and jerked around to see Yvette standing in front of the door.

"Yes, it was _extremely_ important," Yvette replied, and cocked her shotgun, loading the bullet into the barrel that was pointing at the men before her.

"Ah, well isn't it Lonegun Marina," the tallest man said, smirking at Yvette. It was Luke McMan, another hitman for the gang that Yvette had occasionally worked with when she was a hitman herself. The other two men Yvette didn't recognized and concluded that they must be new members of the gang. Luke was a dangerous man; he knew how to kill men with just about anything. His psychotic humor always made Yvette feel extremely uncomfortable whenever she was near him. Even now as she stood here with a loaded shotgun, Yvette felt uneasy as Luke stared her down with his sharp green eyes.

"You know, Marina," Luke continued casually as if they were two old friends catching up with each other. "You have caused some major uproars in the gang these past few days. Turning in a Boss to the Scotland Yard, and then killing that Boss, then consorting with detective Sherlock Holmes. I think you have cured the Bosses of ever letting a woman into the gang again."

How did he know about Holmes? Were they spying on her? Things were worse than she had originally thought.

"I'm not here to chat, McMan," she replied in an even voice that usually presented itself in high stressed situations.

"That's plainly obvious, darlin'," he chided, gesturing to the shotgun pointing at him. "Though, do tell what you are planning to do."

"That's plainly obvious, is it not?" Yvette mocked, cocking an eyebrow at the Irishman.

He chuckled quietly, causing the two men to glance at him wearily.

"You always had a sharp tongue, kept me on my toes, that it did. It's almost sad that I have to kill such an intelligent woman. They're a rarity, you know," Luke commented, reaching for, no doubt, a revolver in his jacket. "What I really meant to ask what are you and Mister Holmes scheming against the dockyard gang?"

"Scheming? Even if I _was_ scheming with the Detective against the gang, Luke, I wouldn't tell you about it," Yvette replied coolly, eyeing the hand hidden in his jacket.

"Tut, tut, tut, that isn't what I wanted to hear, darlin'. I don't want to make this any harder than it needs to be, but, I just need some answers before I return to the gang with your severed head," he threatened, pulling out the revolver from his jacket and pointing it at the blonde. "So, I'm gonna ask one more time." The revolver gave a click from being cocked back. "What are Mister Holmes and you planning for the Dockyard Gang?"

Yvette could feel her heart slamming against her ribcage as she stared at Luke. She knew either way he was going to shoot her. If she didn't give an answer, he would shoot her in the knee. If she gave him an answer, he would shoot her in the head. Either way, she was screwed unless she could pull the trigger faster than him.

Yvette felt a bead of sweat trail down her forehead, but didn't dare wipe it away when it fell into her eye. All her concentration was on the Irishman. She studied his every breath, bat of an eye, twitch in his fingers, anticipating the moment he pulled the trigger. If there was one thing that Luke was good at, it was his quick hands. She had seen him in action too many times to count, but that might be the only advantage she had over him. She knew his tell. Right when he would go for the shot, he would lick his bottom lip. It would happen so quickly that no one else would ever see it. But, after watching Luke execute people one after another, she noticed it. Yvette figured even Luke didn't know about the tell. So she waited for that millisecond opening, praying that her fingers could be faster than his for once, just this once.

But then something happened. Something that she thought couldn't possibly happen. Not now.

"Ah, here we are Watson, apartment 117," proclaimed Sherlock Holmes from behind the very door Yvette stood in front of.

* * *

**Author's Notes**: Oh dear, it has been too long. Two years? Really?

I'm very sorry for the wait. Last year I got a virus on my laptop and all of my stories were gone. I can't tell you how depressing it was knowing all my hard work was gone. But, I finally sucked it up and rewrote what I had lost.

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and I will try my hardest not to keep you waiting long for the next chapter.

Reviews and helpful criticism is welcomed.


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